Selling It, Buying It, Deciphering It
by KidsNurse
Summary: Now a triptych.Last time House’s pain went over the top, he tried to sell Wilson on a lie.Wilson bought it—for a while, anyway. What happens now, when Wilson decides he’s not standing in line this time for one of House’s cleverly constructed mink coats?
1. Selling It

Title: Selling It

Title: Selling It  
Characters: House, Wilson  
Genre: General, Friendship  
Rating: G  
Word Count: 410  
TimeLine: Some time prior to last season's finale

"Don't."

"Don't... what?"

"The answer is _yes_. Happy now?"

"Answer to what?"

"It's... three, I think. Soon to be four."

Wilson shakes his head, frowns in confusion. "House, I left my decoder ring home this week. And I don't need an official Ex-Wives Tally today, if that's what this is. I just got done writing out the monthly checks."

"Idiot. Even _your_ math can't be that faulty. You've gotta actually _marry_ Number Four before you can divorce her. Although I'll admit, it'd be a big savings in legal fees down the road if you'd just write out the checks ahead of time."

"Oh, I get it now. First thing on your to-do list today: _insult __Wilson_. Mission accomplished."

House shakes his head. "Fun as that'd be, it's not what I'm doing. I'm giving you the information you've been trying oh _so_ subtly to obtain."

Wilson's face reddens; now he gets it. "I... was just a little concerned, that's all."

House picks up the prescription bottle and tosses it across his desk to Wilson. "Count 'em. It's a lot quicker than x-ray vision. You'll find eleven remaining. Ten, if you deduct the one I'm taking soon as you give 'em back. And no."

Wilson sighs. "Here we go again; this is fun. No, what?"

"No, I'm not taking extra pills because I have extra pain. I'm only doing it to annoy you. Happy?"

"Why would _that_ make me happy?"

"Because you'll get to write me a new scrip sooner. Which means you'll get to dust off lecture number three that much sooner. It's one of my favorites, actually; 'House, there _are_ other methods of pain control, you know!' So I'm just letting you know I'm not trying to control pain here."

"So... what _are_ you trying to do?"

"Told you. Number one on my to-do list today is actually _annoy __Wilson_. Mission accomplished?"

Wilson sighs again. "Always."

"Good, then. Wouldn't want to let you down." House reaches across the desk, grabs the bottle fromWilson's hand. He pops another pill as he stands and stalks smugly out of the office, leaving Wilson shaking his head in exasperation.

As soon as he's out of sight, House exhales, leans against the wall, closes his eyes. After a few seconds, he glances back towards his office. "You weren't supposed to buy that," he whispers.

House waits until he's sure his expression gives away nothing. Then, he pulls in a fortifying breath, brings the pill count up to five, and limps heavily away.


	2. Buying It

Title: Buying It

**Title: **Buying It**  
****Characters:** House, Wilson  
**Genre:** General/friendship  
**Rating:** G  
**Word Count:** 570  
**TimeLine:** Sometime prior to the Season Four finale  
**Part Two** of _Selling It_

**A/N: **_Due to this site's... umm... rather unique formatting procedures, I was forced to write out the word 'equals' rather than use the symbol. In reality, of course, no one would actually write out the word, but I hadn't any choice in the matter. mjf_

Wilson stares at House's rapidly departing back. He's surprisingly successful in swallowing his anger at what House has just put him through, but his puzzlement remains. Something's... _off_, and he needs to figure out what it is. Last time he'd let one of these convoluted conversations with House slide, he found out three days later that apparently, he'd made a 1000, online, nonrefundable donation to Save A Sloth--in House's honor.

Absently, he takes a prescription pad from his lab coat and starts to scribble out information so familiar to him that he scarcely needs to think about what he's writing. So when his pen runs out of ink, he's still on auto-pilot as he reaches across the desk to grab one of House's, and he almost misses the torn scrap of paper that flutters to the floor when his movement disturbs the organized chaos of House's desktop.

He's tempted to just leave it there, half-hidden by his chair leg, but finally picks it up. _No sense being blamed later when he claims I lost the cure for cancer. Or the secret to life. Or worse--his bookie's new phone number._

Wilson glances idly at the scrap as he's replacing it, and then draws it closer to him. It's a few simple math equations, written out in House's lazy scrawl: _8 x 500 equals 4000. 2 x 500 equals 1000. 5 x 500 equals 2500. _And off to the side alone, _7500mg_ and _1g._

As the meaning of the seemingly random numbers begins to dawn on him, Wilson looks at what he's just written on the scrip pad. _Gregory House--_ _Hydrocodone/APAP 5/500_, and it hits him--hard.

_"Damn_ it, House!" Wilson stands and begins to pace; his mind is racing. _Why didn't you tell me, you idiot? And me--how the hell could I have been so oblivious, so... so willing to buy into your game? Russian roulette with the acetaminophen... you're in pain.__Lots of it. You're afraid your liver's gonna crap out, and I'm standing by, watching it happen._

Wilson grabs up the scrap of paper and heads down to the pharmacy.

That evening, he isn't surprised to find House in his darkened apartment, curled tightly on the couch. He tosses the paper-wrapped bottle he's carrying at House, and waits.

House unfurls the ragged scrap of paper and glances at it, then quickly away. Wilson can tell that House knows immediately he's been busted--he won't look towards Wilson, choosing instead to study the tiny printing on the bottle's label: _Hycodan 5mg tabs_.

It's not perfect, of course, but at least it doesn't contain acetaminophen. The important thing is, it's still House's drug of choice--hydrocodone. _No_, Wilson thinks, _the important thing is we'll be able to get a grip on his pain without killing him in the process._

House raises his head, finally, and looks quizzically at Wilson.

"So it took me a while to figure it out. You could sell mink coats at a PETA rally," Wilson says defensively.

"And you'd be first in line to buy one," House retorts as they stare coldly at one another.

Wilson's secretly amused. _We're probably the only two people on Earth who could manage to glare the apologies across a room_, he thinks.

Wilson breaks eye contact first. He grabs the TV remote and tosses it to House. "Find something good," he orders. "I'll get the beer."


	3. Deciphering It

DECIPHERING IT

**DECIPHERING IT**

**Title: **_Deciphering It _(Third in a triptych. First two were Selling It and Buying It)

**Rating: **PG

**Characters: **House, Wilson

**Genre: **Friendship, Hurt/Comfort

**Word Count: **850

**TimeLine: **Sometime prior to the Season Four finale, pre-Amber

**Summary: **_Last time House's pain went over the top, he tried to sell Wilson on a lie. Wilson bought it—for a while, anyway. What happens now, when Wilson decides he's not standing in line this time for one of House's cleverly constructed mink coats?_

House removes his reading glasses, sighs, rubs wearily at his face. "I could've sworn I already threw you out of here a few minutes ago," he says.

"And now I'm back," Wilson observes brightly as he settles himself comfortably in the Eames chair. "Sorry it took so long, ran into Debbie from Accounting. She was wearing a new sweater, and… well, _you_ know."

Wilson grins widely at House, who returns a half-hearted smile. House looks more than weary; he's got that bone-tired exhaustion, the fatigued posture of a man who's been battling hard—and losing. He's trying to hide it, and he's been pretty successful so far. He thinks his sharp, cruel tongue has probably set a few room-clearing records in the last couple of days. But this is _Wilson_, and the only way to hide it from Wilson is to… well, get _away_ from Wilson.

House rises slowly from his chair, stretches his limbs cautiously, takes a deep breath. He can feel Wilson's eyes taking in every move, every facial expression he makes. So he's careful to keep his face, his eyes, blank. And when he speaks, he puts all his strength behind the words. "It's 6:20; I'm outta here. See you Monday."

House tries to ignore Wilson standing and following him out of the office. Following him to the elevator. Following him _on_ the elevator! "Don't you have a lab tech to chase? Or a bedtime story to read? Or _something_?"

"No; thought I'd give you a ride home, though. You look worn out; best if you leave the bike here, don't you think?"

"I didn't _ride_ the bike. Got a perfectly good bus stop right in front of my place." _Damn; now he's gonna make something out of that._

But all Wilson says is, "I happen to be going your way; c'mon."

When the elevator opens, House follows Wilson to his car. He tells himself it's easier than arguing.

"Need you to stop at that Korean place," House says shortly. "Gotta get something for dinner. _My_ dinner."

"Not a problem."

When Wilson pulls up in front of the restaurant, he follows House from the car. At House's dirty look, he responds, "What? I gotta eat too."

When they arrive at the counter, House introduces Wilson. "This is my new puppy. Name's Wilson, and he's taken to following me everywhere. You in the market for some really tender dog meat for your next batch of _Suyuk_?"

Wilson just rolls his eyes, steps forward, orders—and pays for—two meals, while House shakes his head.

When they arrive at his apartment, House half-heartedly tries a, "Thanks; see you later." He exits the car with as much speed as he can muster, and winces when he hears a second door slam behind him, followed by rapid footsteps.

House stops dead, whirls around so quickly that Wilson bumps into him. "If I _told_ you to just… toddle off, would you?"

"Nope," Wilson says cheerily.

House pulls his cell phone from his pocket. "Wonder how long it'd take for a restraining order," he mumbles, then his eyes widen as Wilson plucks the phone from his hand and stuffs it into his own pocket. He glares at Wilson, who simply grins back at him and resumes walking.

House sighs, then follows behind him at a slower pace. Funny, though; the pain, unremitting for several days, seems to be letting up just a little.

Once they're settled on the couch with their meals, Wilson says casually, "I read an interesting article the other day. Some new study comparing the efficacy of identical doses of pain meds in cancer patients who live alone, and again when they're hospitalized. Seems the meds were much more effective during hospitalization. The researchers concluded that simple solitude magnifies pain. Imagine that."

House feigns boredom. "Fascinating," he says, tossing his plate on the table and lying back on the couch. Wilson scoots to the end without comment.

House has no trouble figuring out the coded message. What he _is_ having trouble with is _why_ Wilson's sending it. _I'd almost think he knows what's going on. Must be losing my touch. Or… maybe Wilson's been wearing his decoder ring this week. _

The _other_ thing House is having trouble with is the feeling in his chest; gratitude's got a hammer in there, and it's pounding off the sharp edges of fear, resentment… loneliness. It's disconcerting, confusing.

House is distracted from his thoughts when Wilson returns from the kitchen carrying a fresh beer. He watches as Wilson sits carefully in the small space between House's feet and the end of the couch. He opens his mouth to complain that his feet are now scrunched up against Wilson—but he doesn't.

Wilson kicks off his shoes, pops the top on his beer, puts his feet up on the table, and leans back, sighing contentedly. He picks up the remote and locates a _Law & Order_ marathon. "Oh, great," he says happily. "This is scheduled to run all night. Hey—can I get you anything?"

_Amazingly, I have every damned thing I need, right here. _"No," he mumbles tiredly, and closes his eyes. He's asleep before the opening credits roll.

Wilson smiles.


End file.
